Liabilities and Other L-words
by margotwrites
Summary: She may not have looked like one of those tiny porcelain cherub babies, but from those words alone, Rick could tell she was innocent.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

Rain spattered violently across the windows. A flash of thunder lit the sky for a split second and you could glimpse the turmoil of swirling clouds and dark. A storm was raging on. From the moment they arrived in the private hangar 'til the jet tucked its wheels and left the ground, it had gotten from bad to worse. That didn't stop them from boarding the fucking plane though or the crew from actually attempting to fly through this shit show. As it was they were on a tight schedule, couldn't lose one sacred minute, so help them God.

Rick tightened his seatbelt more firmly against his stomach and pushed the window shade down, but not before taking a last look at the swirling hell surrounding the tiny private jet. The pilot in command had to be some kind of way or a straight up dumbass to think they would land without some part of this plane flying off. And he wasn't just talking about the storm, with that girl here too, some kind of shit was bound to happen. Rick wondered if this crew really knew what they signed up for. Though there was a large possibility they had no idea what they were flying from Guatemala to Washington, security clearance and all that. After all this was an ARGUS mission. Classified, strictly need to know basis. Unfortunately for him, Rick was a member of this exclusive Need to Know.

He tugged his cap further down his head and shut his eyes tightly. The ding of the warning signal to fasten your seatbelts went off as soon as he did, seconds after that the stewardess was on the intercom informing all three of its passengers about another bout of turbulence.

Rick sighed irritably, opening his eyes. He stretched his legs only to have his knees knock against the seat in front of him, _again_. You'd think a swanky plane like this would have a little more breathing room. For Christ's sake a bunker cot would be more comfortable than this over-glorified booster seat he was currently squeezing into. The plush leather upholstery wasn't fooling anyone. He shifted, aggravated.

Rick hated flying. No matter the distance from fourteen hours to two, be it a private jet or a military MD 530F, he'd step off whatever hunk of metal that kept him in the air cramping and cranky.

Rick tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the black curls peeking out from a seat a few rows ahead. He barely managed to contain a scoff before looking away, his eyes now landing on the girl across from him. She was curled up in her seat, her legs tucked to her chest, eyes closed, his bomber jacket wrapped around her, almost swallowing her whole. He had given her that jacket when he had fished her out of that grimy hotel bathtub. She had only let it go once since then, when he figured it could use a wash after soaking up all that swamp water. She promptly took it back.

The files—correction: the _file_ on her, meant to brief him before the mission, only mentioned her occupation, possible whereabouts, and a vague idea about her abilities. She had no criminal record, no psych evaluations, _nada_. Even then, with this limited information, she was deemed highly lethal. There was a big ol' red stamp on that one page to prove it. Except she didn't look at all lethal to Rick, not when she was naked and shivering, witch's grass bowed over her, begging for help and not now.

Rick frowned as he studied her. Since he had apprehended her that was all he could do. He couldn't help it. She looked so… _normal_ , but most of the time that was the case with metahumans so he shouldn't have thought any different. Still, she didn't look like no witch.

Rick watch as strands of brown hair fell to cover her face, but it didn't hide the shadows etched beneath her closed lids. She shifted slightly in her sleep, her fingers clutching his jacket more tightly around her.

She looked young, too young to be any sort of doctor. But she was 28 and an archeologist according to her file. These were two of the few things that Rick knew about this girl that were actually concrete and that alone reminded him not to let measly appearances deceive him. That kind of thinking got you killed. So did underestimating someone. Besides she could look like one of those porcelain cherub babies, you know the ones with their asses hanging out, glossy and rosy posing over a rainbow cloud or a fucking dolphin, it wouldn't change anything. She had killed two officers that day and a fresh face sure as hell wasn't going to change that.

Rick turned away from the sleeping girl, reaching out for the cup of water on the tray in front of him and took a sip, thinking back to Waller that day before he got on a flight to Guatemala.

"They say they found her passed out on some backwards road." She had said handing him a flimsy folder. "Two policemen accompanied her back to her rental. The next day room service found them dead, the maid ran from the scene, said the place was haunted, that a _witch_ was there."

"A witch." Rick had repeated warily. He had had it up to here with the metahuman bullshit. He'd been chasing them around for months under Waller's jurisdiction.

Waller didn't say anything else, just fixed him with that stone cold look of hers and gave a nod towards the plane behind him, like she was motioning for a dog to fetch a bone.

When he had arrived at Palacio LaLuna seven hours later, a local officer in tow, it was already almost dark. The staff he met with all refused to go near the private hotel suite located at the far end of the estate, only pointing to it, terror in their eyes. His hand went instinctively to the glock at his hip.

He had followed standard protocol when entering the suite, the actions coming to him like second nature: quick measured steps, thorough scan for enemies, potential exits and escapes and the like. Upstairs they found the policeman. Rick barely registered the black marks etched on their faces, signaling for the officer to cover him as they moved on. It was when they had gotten to the bathroom that he faltered.

Thinking this Rick glanced at her again. He gave a slight start when he locked eyes with her. She had woken up, her blue eyes on his hazel ones. She held his stare silently, face expressionless except for the slight furrow of her thick brows.

Rick adjusted his cap, embarrassed he was caught gawking, and was about to say something when she parted her lips. She let out a few words, only it came out so hoarse that it was unintelligible and she had to clear her throat and start again.

"I, um…never got your name." She said voice low and soft.

"It's Rick." He told her. "Rick Flag."

She nodded. "I'm…" She hesitated, donning that same fearful look she had that day in the bathtub. "June…Moone."

She said it like she wasn't sure. Her tone was genuine, her uncertainty telling.

Rick had made up his mind.

She may not have looked like one of those tiny porcelain cherub babies his Ma used to like so much, but from those words alone he could tell she was innocent, that the death of those policemen was an act done unwillingly, which is why he held out his hand.

"Nice to meet ya June."

* * *

Something I whipped up one restless night. Might be a one-shot, might not. Just was itching to write _something_ for these two.

Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing itxx


End file.
